


The Rest is Silence

by fightthosefairies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddles, Dean Winchester deserves the happiest ending so I gave him one, Dean Winchester on the mend, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy, Gigantic pile of shmoop, Happy Ending, Hurt/comfort (sorta), M/M, PTSD RECOVERY, Post-series coda, Schmoop, Sweet and Schmoopy, it's just not all the fireworks and excitement you might expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightthosefairies/pseuds/fightthosefairies
Summary: In his arms, the quiet is no longer consuming.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	The Rest is Silence

In his arms, the quiet is no longer consuming. It’s no longer a beast seeking to shred him apart with its claws.  
  
There’s no metallic, watery pinging or echo of distant sea noises around his head, or the hollow frost against his cheeks from a walk-in freezer hidden in the most secret of places, deeper still. Angler-fish deep. Glowy _Abyss_ -water-alien-angel deep.   
  
No water. No fire. No drowning. No more coughing or pleading or praying. No more tears. Of that sort, anyway. No more of the lost and hopeless tears. Tears that were shed by someone he no longer is.   
  
A Dean Winchester that no longer exists. That never truly existed, to begin with.  
  
Not too long ago, the very thought of that would have frozen him to the core, but now? He feels a rush unlike anything hunting ever could have given him, and he marvels at it, wonders how he’d never thought of it before, sooner - so much sooner.   
  
It would have saved them both so much heartache, so much unnecessary torment, but he could never regret a single instant - even the most painful and terrifying ones.   
  
Because now they’re finally free, and there’s nothing but options - an entire world of them, all theirs for the choosing.   
  
It’s no wonder it takes a couple of months for it to finally sink in. Hunting has been all Dean's known from the time he was barely five years old, and he became the youngest parent in US history. It won’t get better overnight, or maybe in the next year, or even ten years. But the point is, he’s working on it, and he’s not alone. Not anymore.  
  
Dean doesn’t have to bottle it all up, shove it all away, and just pretend everything’s peachy, anymore, if it’s not. He can have a bad day - and does, still, sometimes - but they all do, and they all forgive each other. Because it’s just what they do.  
  
Because being a real person is work, and sometimes the work is ugly and sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it leaves him curled up in the fetal position, sobbing his heart out over losing his mother ~~again~~ along with all the others they’ve lost. Cas is so patient. Because that’s just something else that happens, now, too, all the time.   
  
Dean started seeing Mia the 'shifter therapist and knows he can shoot her an email if he needs help - and he _does_ email her.  
  
  
Fighting back a yawn, Dean rubs at his eyes, staving off sleep for just a few moments more - because now that Cas is here, now that he’s here for good, he can’t stop looking. Whether Cas is awake or asleep or just making himself some tea, Dean just can’t stop staring at him.   
  
Part of the deal was that Jack would lock up all of the monsters, send them back to Purgatory, but that meant the angels would have to go, too. Back up to Heaven, where they belonged. Back under lock and key, and with Billie’s stern supervision. Before everything was signed, sealed, and delivered, Jack left it up to Cas: return to Heaven as an angel or live out his days as a fully human, souled-up person. Social security number, birth certificate, and everything.   
  
Cas chose Dean. ~~As if anybody except for Chuck would ever, _could_ ever possibly be surprised by that.~~ He was kinda predictable that way, but Dean was grateful for it. That constancy, that unconditional love would come in handy while he learned to embrace those parts of himself that had never seen the light of day.   
  
The same Dean who loves LARPing, the one who jams out to WHAM! just as hard as he does to Soundgarden (because George Michael always gets a pass, Jack rest his soul), the one who nerds out over horror movies. Basically anything you _can_ nerd out about, he does. History. Languages. Weird animals. _Dancing!_  
  
Hell, Sammy’s even got him listening to those true crime podcasts, now. The great thing about those is it’s all up to _someone else_ to do the leg-work on a case, for a change, and Dean can just sit back and enjoy listening to the story. Somebody else can be the hero, the righter of wrongs, and he’s perfectly fine with that.  
  
Dean reaches up, knuckles lightly brushing over Cas’s forearm as it’s draped over his midsection, feeling the catch of coarse hair against his skin. He didn’t even realize Cas _had_ hair on his arms, which - dumb thing to think, probably, but - he was just surprised, is all.  
  
Much like Sam and Eileen, the two of them now had their own agreement: no more secrets. Even if what got dredged up was ugly, or painful, or scary, they’d deal with it together. Because they were always better together. Defeating Chuck had shown them that.

  
Cas is out like a light behind him (Dean’s the little spoon and proud of it), and his nose is like a small, super bass-y buzzsaw as he sloooowly inhales and then exhales, a soft little huff. And goddamn, if it’s not the cutest thing Dean’s ever seen in his life.   
  
The covers are puddled around their waists, legs tangled and nested up close together like stacking chairs. Cas’s right arm curls along the top of the pillow just above Dean’s head, while his other arm spans his waist in a protective clasp.   
  
Cas’s hair is growing out, getting thicker and darker and messier every day - something else Dean didn’t think was possible - but they’re all changing, now.   
  
Now that they’re allowed to. Now that they’re free.   
  
Even Dean’s letting his hair grow out a bit - just for a while, just to see how it feels. Sam keeps his exactly the same length as always, because he’s a bitch. Rowena’s been trying to talk Eileen into dyeing hers red and Sam is staying _out_ of that discussion altogether. Dean thinks, not for the first time, that his baby brother is a smart man.  
  
Cas snuffles a bit and there’s another, louder snore, another _huffpuff_ , and his fingers curl against the softness of Dean’s stomach, twiddling there in his sleep. Dean bites his lip to hold back a giggle. Because giggling is also something he does now, apparently. He’s ticklish - go figure.   
  
Keeping his movements steady and careful, Dean rolls over onto his other side to face Cas and ever so gently eases him onto his back. The snoring quiets almost immediately. There's still plenty of dust to be disturbed and wafted about in the bunker, even after all this time, and Cas, as it turns out, is allergic.   
  
His sneezes are pretty damn adorable, too.   
  
Dean grins to himself as the snores subside, and reaches up, tenderly smoothing Cas’s hair back from his forehead. He keeps his touch feather-tip light, the barest glance of his skin against tanned knuckles, powerful forearms ( _so strong!_ ), the warm, flat expanse of his stomach, and the impossible temptation of his hip bones.  
  
Before he strays too far, his eyes wander back up to Castiel’s face, the prickle of whiskers coming in as he slumbers. Cas can’t decide if he wants to try growing a beard or not; Dean said he could give it a go, but he’s not sure how he’ll react once it’s long enough to remind him of that other Cas from the future that’s now the past but will ~~now~~ ~~forever~~ never be the future. No more Croats, no more God, no more monsters. Some people have _ohmm_ , some people have daily affirmations - Dean has _no more God, no more monsters, no more tears._  
  
Jack had even offered to wall away the worst of their memories for them, saying that no human beings should or could ever be expected to survive such an emotional, physical, and spiritual gauntlet.  
  
However, Dean responds better to a light touch, nowadays, and Cas’s touch is always that, but no less solid or grounding for it. _His hand rests against Dean’s spine like a level as he delicately adjusts his posture, setting his shoulders square and strong, rib cage opened to the world. Those hands guide and shape him into another yoga pose (something else he’s been trying - Cas can’t stop going on about it and Dean can’t deny him a thing, will never, not after everything else) and his muscles protest, at first, but the strain doesn’t last for long. He’s left feeling wobbly and his everything feels like Jell-O, but the warm, peaceful glow left behind inside his chest after lasts for days. Cas’s gruff voice instills otherworldly levels of patience, kindness, and calm in him, dead guy pose or no dead guy pose._ Cas believes he can do it, so Dean believes he can. It’s as simple and complicated as that.  
  
Dean isn’t as graceful in his own body as Cas is in his own - even in his freshly humaned-up state. Cas has already been human a few more times than Dean has, himself, to be fair - and hearing that always makes Cas snort out a laugh. Because Cas does that now. Apparently.

Dean recalls the moment, mind flying back to the memory in sharp, crisp black and amber. Street lights bounced off Cas’s cheekbone, his trench coat, off his furrowed brow. “What would you rather have? Peace or freedom?” Cas had asked him. Because, with Chuck, you could only ever choose one, and they’d all paid the price, over and over again, in order to change that.  
  
Nestling in close, Dean slips his arm around Castiel’s waist, his cheek touching down somewhere just over his heart. Dean smacks his lips a bit as he settles, and his smile only gets wider as he feels Cas’s arms wind around him, clinging like sleepy kudzu.  
  
One broad, warm palm alights on the back of his neck, thumb stroking metronome slow against his nape. Cas’s other arm hooks over his shoulder, long, magical fingers threaded deep in his fawn-colored hair and carding through it, all affectionate and fumbledy-like, in his sleep. 

Dean lets his eyes drift shut, the sound of his love’s heartbeat lulling him into a deep sleep. One that actually lasts for longer than four hours. 

Cas buys him a pair of pajamas from the Hot Topical with smiling, dancing slices of pizza on them for his 42nd birthday. 

Normal’s not so bad, really. Once you get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the fics I created just for my SPN Tumblr fam. Feel free to stop by and say hey! You can also find alllll of my SPN meta over there, which informs a lot of the writing you'll see here: https://rogueangelshunter.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also - kudos are wonderful and lovely and much appreciated, but comments keep me well-fed and motivated!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


End file.
